


Take my breath away

by UlsPi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Depression, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Judaism, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other, Queerplatonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-02-01 07:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21441022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlsPi/pseuds/UlsPi
Summary: "But I think, you were created much earlier, so in human terms you are… you are like those glorious prehistoric ammonites and I'm more of a snake.""Thought you were a snake." Aziraphale seemed offended he had been compared to an ammonite."Well, I am. But ammonites… oh don't start me on the ammonites.""Apparently I have," Aziraphale wouldn't let it go.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 45
Collections: Good Omens is Jewish and so are we





	Take my breath away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Daegaer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Ordinary People](https://archiveofourown.org/works/407890) by [Daegaer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer). 

> Some views expressed below might be disagreeable, but I must say that being depressed for ten years, socially awkward my entire life and having self-esteem issues the size of a heavily pregnant blue whale, I'm not exactly a ray of sunshine and need to outsource it all to the cosmic entities. Archive warnings do not apply to anything in this story, so...  
Also, as a gift, it must be cheery and happy, but it's my humble homage to a superior writer, so I made it humble. I guess.

The way humans see it, angels and demons are hereditary enemies engaged in some sort of eternal cosmic war. As with most things the way humans see it, it's not entirely true. Actually, it's entirely not true. Angels and demons are indeed inherently different, opposite, if you like, yet they do come from the same original stock, and so it remains. What changed, though, was that the group that felt privileged and entitled, the ones who were whip smart, popular, too optimistic and ungrateful, became known as angels. God's opinion on the matter is unknown. The other group, those who were peculiar, silent (or overtly loud and therefore undignified), witty but in their own way, too pessimistic and asked too many questions, they became known as demons. But no man or woman or any other being for that matter is an island. Yes, in general, angels knew nothing of such things as self-esteem issues, anxiety, depression, doubt and so forth, while most demons refused to ignore decay inherent in all things great and small, occasionally relished in that decay and the curious beauty of rotting process. Both groups were presumptuous and prejudiced. Demon Crowley, a marvelous gardener and a talented star builder (he ended up choosing gardens, but cosmic laws were his thesis, so to speak, and once completed, he moved on) enjoyed studying and creating and was too friendly, unlike most of his kin, so he didn't belong with them. Angel Aziraphale, on the other hand, was a nervous wreck, too anxious to please and just overall anxious, and felt no connection to his glorious company and being bullied into dysthymia, ended up preferring books to any company, so he didn't belong with those mighty, self-confident bunch who engaged in acts of charity to justify the existence of others (they existed so that angels could be charitable, in angels' mighty opinion), while Crowley refused to see the world as an eternal carnage with a splash of leprosy every now and then. Being so different, they both ended up in Eden where Crowley admired the way earthworms made the soil fertile and had serious discussions about bees and flowers with every teenage tree, and Aziraphale stood his vigil over the wall, but mostly he was stargazing and thinking of the boyish ginger demon turning Eden into what would soon be known as, well, Eden. Humans also proved rather interesting. Crowley and Aziraphale sometimes watched them from afar, but mostly they preferred talking to each other. There are no restrictions for relationships between angels and demons, but they dislike each other and blamed it on the third party's opinion to avoid soul-searching. Crowley and Aziraphale liked each other very much, not that they talked about liking each other. There were a lot more things to talk about. Aziraphale, for example, had invented letters, writing itself, and had been mocked for it. Crowley had been the only being beside God to recreate life without magic, using only physics, abiding by his own laws, which made him a bad demon, who didn't know how to properly rebel and relish in decay and leprosy (he relished in them, he just didn't gloat; the fact that he was enchanted by viroids didn't mean he couldn't understand the consequences of their interactions with his plants). Lost in their conversations they missed how Adam killed a snake and blamed it on Eve. Since then God mostly resigned to facepalm, and cast Adam and Eve out of Eden. Out of pure curiosity and in Aziraphale's case genuine concern, both beings followed them…

In the end, Aziraphale settled for a library he'd miracle himself anywhere he wanted, and Crowley chose gardens again and grew and took care of all sorts of plants. They discovered pretty soon that humanity was able and willing to destroy the most wondrous things just… because. Demons and angels had their own explanations, but Aziraphale had none when his library in Alexandria was burnt, and neither did Crowley when one by one his forests, his orchards, his gardens were cut down, burnt, sacked… Crowley came out of retirement very few times, so he built Versailles, and before that the gardens of Seville, and after that several parks in Britain, including his gift to Aziraphale, St. James' Park ("What are we celebrating, my dear?" - "I really don't know, angel, just wanted to give you something, like, green and with… ducks!"). Aziraphale came out of retirement to study dyslexia and was very upset that he hadn't thought about it before. He even thought that maybe his superiors mocked him deservingly. 

As the world kept turning, spinning and overall enjoying the eternal gavotte, Aziraphale and Crowley pretended to detest each other to avoid questions during Shabbat dinners. All families are messy, and each in their own way, although Tolstoy was a right wanker. By the beginning of the 21st century, Aziraphale had been settled in London for almost a millenia, and Crowley, as he put it, grew tired of commuting from increasingly distant and rare places where proper gardening could be done, so he miracled a garden on the roof of a lovely building he had built for Aziraphale some two hundred years prior. The building stored books, books, books, wine, delicacies and a cozy bedroom where Crowley would occasionally excel in the art of napping. The building could only be discovered by someone in need of help, to Crowley's grumpy discontent, because at this rate miracling the building non-existent was a waste of effort, besides they burnt forests and gardens and orchards and were mostly awful.

On paper Aziraphale and Crowley were sort of working. Aziraphale, being charitable, and Crowley being annoyingly questioning, doubting and instigating decay, although there was more than enough of it, and not all decay was productive. For example, a dictator remained useless all through the process of soul-rotting. 

Most evenings Aziraphale and Crowley spent sitting in Crowley's roof garden, which had a small forest, by the way, and a duck pond, and a lot of vegan foxes for some reason. So that evening they were also sitting on their comfortable couch which through the years turned into a couch plant and now was renewing its upholstery every spring. Luckily, it was Autumn, and the upholstery was just turning red, yellow and orange and smelled of fallen leaves and rain while remaining dry, because it knew what was good for it.

"You know, my dear," said Aziraphale sipping his wine (he was really good at that original God-given thing of finding joy on an everyday basis, so he enjoyed food and wine, and Crowley supported it out of sheer spite, pardon, curiosity and affection). "I've been thinking… I'm feeling so old sometimes, like a proper washed-out old human, which led me to this question… am I older than you?"

Crowley took a sip of his wine and began thinking. Usually he thought out loud with a lot of unintelligible noises, but now he was tasting the wine and couldn't do anything out loud. Maybe he could moan, but they weren't there yet.

"See, my dear," Aziraphale continued failing to notice Crowley's thought process, "we were created before time, as they say…"

"Ok, angel, once something is created there's time. There's before and after and there's a process, movement, so there's time." Crowley had to swallow his drink earlier than he wanted and was a bit angry about it.

"Oh, right."

"Who are they that say such shit?"

"Oh, you know…"

"Ah, the family… well, my lot doesn't speak of such things, we are all properly, you know, bitter anyway. And only time can make you bitter." Crowley was falling into a philosophical mood.

"Indeed, my dear."

"But I think, you were created much earlier, so in human terms you are… you are like those glorious prehistoric ammonites and I'm more of a snake."

"Thought you were a snake." Aziraphale seemed offended he had been compared to an ammonite. 

"Well, I am. But ammonites… oh don't start me on the ammonites."

"Apparently I have," Aziraphale wouldn't let it go.

"But angel, they were amazing! They still are, but those prehistoric bastards, they were huge! Up to three metres, if not more, can you imagine such handsome bugger in its shell swimming in prehistoric oceans and hunting shit out of smaller and less handsome buggers?"

"So, are you implying that I'm… a handsome bugger?"

"Angel, your question was about time and age. But whatever, of course you are a handsome… being. To my knowledge, you haven't actually tried…"

"Oh, absolutely not. You?"

"So, time! And age! Yes, you are an old, prissy angel, and I'm a young, rebellious snake." Crowley became very interested in petting a vegan fox. Fox didn't like it at all, and escaped. Young, rebellious snake let out a sigh.

"You dodged my question, dear boy."

"About buggery? Ehm… nu… see, bodily fluids are… well… wicked, in a good way. Really great design, if you ask me, besides we both look like bodily fluids in our true forms…"

"I don't look like a bodily fluid! I'm an angel! Crowley, this is what I get for taking you out for oysters back in Rome? This is your gratitude? Being compared to an ammonite and bodily fluids?"

"Oy, shut it, angel. It's barely Tuesday, and you are going all Shabbat dinner Gabriel on me."

(Why, of course Aziraphale was asked to bring Crowley to heavenly Shabbat dinner and Gabriel scolded the demon all through it. When Aziraphale joined hellish Shabbat dinner it was more of a continuous fight over who made the best challah and everyone agreed that it was that old baker in Jerusalem who had been murdered during the crusades, and Aziraphale felt guilty, because the baker was making challot for heavenly Shabbat and considered it an honour, while angels considered themselves very charitable indeed. As Beelzebub put it, "that's why we can't have nice things". Aziraphale couldn't find it in himself to ask the baker to make challot for demons. It would ruin the baker's view of the world, and the human still thought the Earth was flat.)

"And I don't like eating snot… but if you think about it, oysters are handsome buggers too and you ate them!"

"So did you, Crowley!"

"I ate one, and you practically pushed it down my throat. Couldn't properly sneeze ever since. How about we go out for dinner, angel? Could go to Tokyo for sushi. Or that nice little place in Eilat where they make shawarma you like so much?.."

Aziraphale pouted, so Crowley continued.

"And… and… I took you to the Natural History museum when it opened!" 

"Yes, dear, and criticised the exposition all through our visit!"

"I bought you a sponge cake afterwards and flew you to see "Hamlet" in Kabukiza!"

"You hate "Hamlet", so I didn't enjoy myself." Aziraphale was going full Shabbat dinner Michael now. Michael was considered by herself as the most empathizing of heavenly host regardless of her militaristic tendencies.

"I made it a bloody hit, because you were all "alas, poor Hamlet, Crowley, dear, really…""

"See, I didn't ask anything…"

"You don't need to ask a thing, angel, that's the point! Sushi or shawarma?"

"I'd rather stay at home and read, my dear."

Crowley roared, jumped up from the couch and went to an old oak tree to yell at it for being too young for such an old tree. Then he stormed down inside the building and Aziraphale heard him yell at yucca to "stop getting ideas, you stupid plant, grow better, bloody Shakespeare, prissy angel, what's wrong with being compared to a giant ammonite!? I wish someone compared me to a giant ammonite!"

Crowley returned to Aziraphale, dropped on the couch, messed his red hair, pulled a few strings from his black cardigan, puffed, huffed, took the glasses covering his snake eyes off, put them back, then said, "What should I make for dinner, angel?"

Aziraphale smiled at the demon, and the demon wasn't looking at him missing on the pale pink warm light emanating from the angel, and a soft glow in his blue eyes, and just a little shred of doubt…

"Thank you, my dear. You are such a good friend. I'm so happy to have you."

"Shut up! I'm a demon, I'm not good. So, what should I cook?"

"Dearest, I asked you about time and age, because I love… having you by my side, and if I'm old and boring and prissy, and you are still… you, searching, changing, doubting, then what if one day… what if one day you're bored with me and…"

"Bored with you!? Angel, we've been friends for six thousand years, we've lived together for three hundred years, ever since you popped across the channel during a revolution for crepes! Couldn't let you out of my sight after that! And it didn't even help, because you decided to mess with Nazis, because you had read too much Conrad three decades prior, and the book is great, but I had to drop a bomb on people, however awful they were, and usually your lot does all the righteous smiting… I had so much guilt Hastur doubled my dose of serotonin and he never lets me forget about it!"

(Hastur never let Crowley forget about it and would bring it up every Shabbat dinner always getting laughs and purple Crowley. Hastur was Hell's pharmacist since time immemorial, so nobody wanted to piss him off. Up in Heaven antidepressants were rightfully considered the devil's work, but angels denied existence of depression and mental health issues in general, besides some of them were anti-vaxxers.)

"So sorry about that, dear… I thought you didn't read." Aziraphale smiled, wickedly. Crowley went purple.

"Ahm… ehm… Ngk… oy vey… Gewalt, angel! You read it to me, and I listened. I always do!"

"Of course, dear boy. I just assumed you had fallen asleep…"

"I had! But I kept listening. What do you want for dinner, angel?"

"Do we have some more of that gravlax you made?"

"We surely do. Right away."

Crowley slithered from the couch and returned to the building. A few moments later Aziraphale heard him ask, "Angel! Do you want to eat in the garden or inside?"

"In the garden, my dear," answered Aziraphale, and he really didn't like raising his voice, and Crowley knew it, dear boy.

"And do you want it on store-bought bagels or my homemade mess?"

Usually Aziraphale preferred store-bought miracled fresh, but he was genuinely touched by the whole handsome bugger of an ammonite thingy, if he had been honest, and he was, so he opted for Crowley's homemade mess. It didn't taste bad, mind you, it tasted like a bagel, it just didn't look like one. 

Crowley returned with bagels, cream cheese, gravlax and a bottle of Chardonnay. An overexcited table ran out from the depths of the garden/forest/whatever and settled in front of them wagging its tablecloth. They ate in silence, meaning that Aziraphale ate in relative silence letting out a moan or two, and Crowley sipped his wine and looked at Aziraphale searching for any signs of mild displeasure and generally admiring the angel.

"That was scrumptious, my boy. Thank you." 

The table ran down to do the dishes and clean up. Aziraphale put his head on Crowley's lap and Crowley told him some more about the ammonites. When Crowley began to doze off and make up sentences like "and the ammonites… the ammonites… they all wore bowties, tartan, and they never got them wet, you know, and it's remarkable", Aziraphale sat up and pulled Crowley to lie down on his lap, playing with his soft hair and reading Kepler to the demon. The trees and bushes rustled in the gentle wind, the sky above Aziraphale and Crowley was clear of any light pollution, the night was as lovely as it gets, and Aziraphale and Crowley had had many nights like that, yet it never ever grew old or boring for either of them. Maybe that was what Crowley meant.

"Remember, angel…" muttered Crowley in his lucid dream.

"What, dearest?" Aziraphale put the book aside and dedicated both of his hands to Crowley's hair. 

"When… when I had a duel because someone offended you?"

"My dear, I've never manifested as a lady…"

"I have. And someone offended you, so I challenged them, and they laughed at me. I dueled them all the same, though… I liked it, being able to defend your honour." The demon chuckled softly.

"Oh, you mean when someone tried to buy a book once I opened the shop?"

"Yes, that one. Was nice… Also I never tried buggery or anything of the sort… what's the point, if you can play with my hair like that…" Crowley let out a quiet snore and pulled his endless legs up to his chest.

"Thank you, my darling boy."

"Welcome, angel… And if you are ever old or boring, I'll love you even more. You'd be so… funny like that… and you will be proud too, because you'll have this dashing snake at your service at all times. People will be envious of you, bugger them, I will be envious of myself."

"Dearest, you say the sweetest things."

"I can be sweet when I'm asleep, can't I, angel?"

"You are always sweet, dear. Always so patient and indulgent." Aziraphale rubbed behind Crowley's ear, and the young, rebellious snake purred like a young, soft kitten.

"Can't refuse you a thing, angel… absolutely… couldn't refuse a thing to such a handsome bugger of an ammonite."

Aziraphale carefully laughed so as not to disturb the sleeping demon. "I rather think, darling boy, that people already think that about us. That I'm old and boring and you're my dashing companion… They must think I have bewitched you."

"Well, I am bewitched." Crowley yawned, turned to the other side and nuzzled Aziraphale's stomach. "Whphmpf… So soft and warm, my angel."

"Hold me, my dear boy," whispered Aziraphale.

"Sure, angel…" Crowley slithered his arms around Aziraphale's waist and hummed contentedly. "You know, angel, were we humans, we would have had hemorrhoids, gout and liver cancer…"

"Well, I'm very glad we are not. Want me to read a book about cancer to you?"

"Yeah, why not, just don't go anywhere, especially not for… food related stuff, ok?"

"Ok, my sweet darling."

"And angel?"

"Yes?"

Crowley sat up, let his right hand go all the way up from Aziraphale's waist to his left cheek and touched the pale pink skin. His sunglasses were gone, and Crowley smiled, openly, happily, shining like the shameless sun above Negev.

"When She cast those two out of the garden… You helped them, you gave them your own flaming sword because they needed it more. And they were cruel, and Adam was awful, and yet you cared for them."

"She was expecting, my dear, besides all make mistakes, it's inevitable. You told me so yourself, you said it had been a bit of an overreaction."

"It was, yes. But… But I could relate more to Her frustration, while you related to Her children's mistakes. I could never be bored with the angel who for all his fussiness and worry, made God look bad." Crowley settled back in Aziraphale's lap.

For a moment the angel was quiet. Then he asked, carefully, "Have you always looked at me like that, my dear?"

"Like what, angel?" answered Crowley, his voice muffled by Aziraphale's body.

"Like… like… listen, and what had I been doing before you were born?"

"Singing, your generation. You were like the Beatles of angelic praise. You had nothing else to do, to be honest, and God's Beatlomania recessed a bit after a while… but not with the real Beatles."

"Crowley, I can barely hear you."

"You are asking strange questions. What's wrong with my looking at you?"

"No, nothing is wrong. I love how you look at me. Look at me some more," Aziraphale laughed and lowered his gaze. Crowley obliged, turning onto his back and looking up at the angel. "Good, angel?"

"Very, my dear."

"Anything else?"

Aziraphale considered it. "No, my dear. I shouldn't deprive you of your sleep."

"It's almost morning, angel."

"Then let's go inside and make it night again."

"My sweet angel, so naughty and fussy… you handsome bugger of an ammonite."

"Get into my shell then, you snake."

They both laughed, held each other some more and went out of the garden and inside their house.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading


End file.
